Awakened to Exposure
by Beautiful.Blur
Summary: *Undergoing renovations* Somewhat AU. Dean & Erika were very much together - until he died, & she spun out of control. But when the unthinkable happens, can they find their way back to each other? And can it all ever be the same?
1. prologue ::

**- Awakened to Exposure -**

* * *

Disclaimer; I do not own or claim to own any part of Supernatural, or any character but that of Erika - who is of my own creation. This disclaimer applies to the entirety of this story, published now, and forever. It is, however, prohibited to steal any of my intellectual property in the manner of the premise of 'Awakened to Exposure'.

* * *

_prologue ::_

It had been almost two years since Erika had received that fateful call.

That deep, rumbling falsetto of John Winchester she missed _so_ _much_ tumbling down the line… She remembered how it shook her to the core. She could never quite figure out why - a man she knew so well, loved so dearly and trusted so wholly - had shaken her so. Perhaps, she thought, it had something to do with what he asked of her rather than the man himself.

He had asked her to find his sons - sons she knew so much of, but had never met. He told her not to find him - and to convince his boys of the same.

John Winchester was one of, if not _the_ largest piece of Erika's life. They almost never got along, but they almost always loved one another with undying passion - the passion of a father and daughter, partners and friends. Ironically, it had taken almost the entire two years since she arrived, for Erika and Dean to share a kind word - a word which was not laced with some jibe, or sarcasm. They almost got a along now; or at least that was what everyone thought. In actuality, they got along swimmingly and with a passion. An entirely different passion to that Erika had held with the senior Winchester. It was a passion like no other she'd experienced. A passion she was more than willing to die for.

But it was also a passion she held more fear for, than anything that ever was, had been or could be, in her life - because every day she woke, she feared to lose it.

On this particular, gloomy morning, she stormed into the bar, grabbing the coffee Ellen had just poured for her off the bench. The roadhouse was the only home she had ever truly known, and she had been more than relieved when they ended up here a few months ago.

"Don't thank me or anything, it's fine." Ellen spoke softly to Erika, seeing the darkness in her eyes.

"Thank you, Ellen." She slumped onto the seat, her strong British drawl hardly audible.

Erika was like a curious piece of art. Fragile in preconception and from afar, but if you knew her (and few did) you realised she was just a bit broken.

When Dean shuffled into the room, his old boots clacking along the hardwood, Ellen could see Erika's shoulders buckle up and her tiny pale hands tighten their clutch on the steaming mug in her grip.

Until recently, just after the unconventional traveling threesome of Sam, Dean and Erika, had shown up here - Dean and Erika had been getting along brilliantly. Almost too obviously showing just how deeply they cared for one another. Their time had been littered with giggles under breath, quick glances to acknowledge one another, or a shared opinion; little things that couples did, but nothing enough to prove anything to the curious. At least, not out of their rooms.

A few days after their arrival, everything dissipated - they weren't at each others throats, but there was a definite sense of ignorance. Dean would say something, Erika would look like she was going to whack him one around the head but would instead leave the room, or go for a drive. Dean would try and talk to her, she'd say something snide and he'd look as though smoke was going to billow out his ears.

Perhaps the most disturbing of them all though, was when they'd both sit in utter silence looking as though if either of them said the wrong thing, they're both break down in tears.

This morning was really nothing different. They both got up, both got coffee, both started scouring newspapers, then Dean got up and left. She watched him go, her lips pursing before her eyes cast downward with such intensity you would have though someone had scribbled Hamlet on the floor.

She spent a good five minutes sitting, contemplating - long enough for Sam to meander in and join Ellen by the bar trying desperately to read her mind, if nothing for the fascination it seemed to promise.

Then it happened.

She got up and left.

As soon as she shut the door behind her, Dean appeared from around the Impala. His were eyes just as dark as hers and his shoulders carrying the weight of the world.

"You need to tell them, Dean. I can't do this anymore." Her voice was distant, and devastatingly sad - just like his eyes.

* * *

_I wrote this a very, very long time ago. It itches me every now and again - seeming forever morphing. My point is, it might not follow the story we have now come to know - so roll it back and please enjoy this now somewhat AU (though that was never my thing) Supernatural rambling._


	2. chapitre :: one

_chapitre one :: stormy memories in a windy field._

The roadhouse was near nothing except the roadhouse, so it hadn't taken Erika long to wander her way out to a clandestine spot - though not a spot so clandestine to leave her memories and all consuming thoughts and fears behind her.

She almost blended into one dark haze, with the exception of her alabaster skin. Her hair was a dark mess of molten chocolate curls kicked up by the stormy winds. Some strands clung to her tired face where the salty lines had traversed, and her teeth assaulted her lips, biting down so hard one bled. Not that she noticed, for that pain was nothing.

Nothing compared to what she faced. The fears that were running fast behind her. The fear of losing him, _loosing Dean_.

Erika's eyes drifted shut, just as she let herself be. She absorbed the sensations of the wind whipping against her face, drying her tears away. The chills seeping through her speckled grey sweater - just feeling. Just living.

* * *

_'Dean?' _

_Her haphazard mane poked through the door before she did, but her husky timbre' soon set toward realisation. Her eyes were curious and cautious as they caught his, and she waited - they waited, for him to give her a quick nod. Permission. _

_Her denim clad leg slid against the door frame as she squeezed into the tiny space._ _"Hi." She smiled at him. It's not like she never had before. She had. A good few times; he took pride in making her laugh at his silly jokes. But this smile was different. It was caring, care she held for him._

_He couldn't help but grin back, his eyes peering down to meet hers from where he was perched up on the sink. Only the night they met had she before taken notice of his striking eyes._

_They were the eyes that she feared might have been the last she ever saw, considering the gun he had swiftly aimed at her head, and all. Tonight though, she feared this might also be the case - that they might be her undoing. The last she ever sees, for an entirely different reason._

_She felt his warm but calloused hand reach her chin, nearing her face to his. The moment they met, she could have sworn someone had tilted open her head and poured a burning hot flurry of something down into her, and she wondered if she'd go back to being cold, ever again._

_She didn't fight him when his strong hold pulled her closer to him. And she didn't fight him when he threw her speckled grey sweater on the floor._

_From where they were, to where they ended up, was a blur. She remembers giggling and feeling safe. Remembers that she regrets not asking him how he felt._ _The moment her legs coiled around his waist, all concerns of the rough wall on her back or the obvious sanitary questions the bathroom seemed to pose, flew out the window. She remembers thinking how she really should have been quiet; what with his brother and their John both mere feet away._

_She could feel the build up of sheer excitement, fear, lust and something else, in her gut. And she remembers the blissful vibrations of Dean's groans skitting across her slick skin as she revelled at the feeling of his face buried in her neck._

_She remembers how she banged her head as she thew it back, but not caring - and she remembers how he kissed her, showing her something of him she was sure almost no one else would know existed._

_And her heart skips a beat as she recalls the sheer ecstasy of his hands curling around her hips, his fingers almost meeting at the small of her back. Because, she remembers that's when she fell._

* * *

'Fuck…' How afraid she was of falling then is so far behind her, that all remains now is the fear of loosing. The fear of a shattered heart: because she doesn't get to keep it whole, when he goes away.

'Erika!' He had this way of pronouncing her name. When she had first met him it had annoyed the absolute crap out of her, but now she revelled in the preciousness of it - because no one else does it like he.

He said the 'r' with an odd peppering of a southern drawl he seemed to have picked up somewhere along his travels; and then he almost coughs on the 'ka', unless he's sad, then it drags to almost a crack in his familiar husky rumble.

'Erika..' That's how he says it now. With a crack, and a serving of sorrow.

'Dean…no, ok? Please…' Her voice is just as sad but nowhere as brave, or strong. Hers is merely a whimper.

* * *

_Everything echoed._

_Her face was pale and drawn, dark circles of sadness and nights un-slept finding home under her bloodshot eyes. Her tiny hands were more transparent than they were pale; the minuscule veins running like rivers just beneath the smooth surface of her skin before tangling with the tendons in a weary work of mechanics._

_A lone tear strayed down her cheek, falling with a splash on to the weathered, calloused hand she clasped in her own. A larger and more lifeless one._

_'Dean…' Her voice trembled, every letter dripping with emotion. 'I'm sorry.' She took a deep breath, more tears threatening to fall as she tried in vein to compose her rattling soul._

_Her head lay softly next to his hand, just close enough to feel him - to tether herself with some hope that if she's here, he couldn't go._

* * *

'I'm sorry. '

'I… I don't think you are.' Her voice was that barely above a whisper. She dare not look to his in that moment, for she knew if she did her mettle would vanish into thin air.

* * *

_Erika spoke french, not occult. As her eyes flitted over the dreary old words in front over her , she found herself tripping back over the same sentence once, twice and over again. It still surprised her she hadn't picked up any of it, having been so consumed by it all of this time. _

_She'd been sitting at the filthy desk for hours - 5 and a half - and he'd been doing the same. Only Bobby had scotch._

_'He's been askin' about you.' His voice was laced with the malty liquor, and she knew that it was the only reason he'd mention him. Mention Dean._

_'Yeah.' She stated her reply, verbally stopping him in his tracks. And tossed him her very best this-is-not-up-for-discussion-so-don't-even-think-about-it, look for good measure. _

_Then there was that loud bang ricocheting from Bobby's flimsy front door as it was nearly rattled off it's hinges by whomever was storming through it._

_'Erika?'_

_She'd know that voice anywhere. If her ears were stuffed full of cotton wool, she'd still know it. _

_Dean._

_'Could've called.' He sounded bitter. And his anger quickly covered anything else that might have been filtering through his voice._

_She could feel her heart thundering in her temples, her eyes wider than she'd like them to be - her heart hurting more that she'd like it to be._

_'Dean.'_

_She turned to face him, and she saw him sink back - hardly a step, but more of a shuffle - and she knew that perhaps all hope wasn't gone; that she could still affect him, like he could her. _

_Like he was her._

* * *

The sun was setting over the horizon, and she could feel him getting closer. Her heart ached more with every step he took. Her throat got tighter and her eyes began stinging like fire.

'Don't.'

'Why not?'

His voice was hardly louder than a whimper, but it was that crack that made the fire wash away. The salty tears falling down her shattered face.


	3. chapitre :: two

_chapitre two :: you, me and the shadows._

'Why are you so fucking stubborn?' She was softening - whimsical, she supposed.

'Me? Erika, come on.' He was breaking. She could see it in his eyes, and that made part of her regret that she had dared glance at him.

* * *

_They had arrived at Bobby's oh-so familiar abode a few days ago._

_Almost immediately, Sam had found a way to make himself busy with something of John's. Dean…well, Dean had been permanently positioned under the Impala. _

_It was always dark here, and it seemed more so in the last week. Granted, the house and everyone in it was now shrouded in the actual night instead of just the murky shadows that usually engulfed Bobby's lair. The dark made it too easy for her thought to conspire against her better judgement, but no matter how lost in her thoughts she might have been, she knew he was there. A shrugging, solid form standing in the doorway, watching her intently._

_'Why did you do it?' Dean's devastated voice ripped through the room. She knew it wasn't all her - the anguish dripping from his words. But some of it was, and that tore her heart in two. _

_She looked up, shaking her tangled mane from her eyes to glance at him. She saw him glimpse down at her tense little hands which were clutching a knife - the one she'd been running along the stone, sharpening._

_She wanted him to laugh at her absurdity, but he didn't. Wouldn't. Instead, he sat beside her. _

_'I need you.'_

_'I… love you…'_

_His voice was so gravely, she might not have known it was his if she hadn't seen the words fall from his lips._

_Dean pulled her up to stand with him - beckoned her into a hug. She though her heart might have exploded in shock, delight or sheer and unrequited love._

_'I love you, Dean... fuck... so much.'_

* * *

'I love you so fucking much, Erika.' He was crying, and she fell to the ground, her knees buckling with the pain ricocheting through her body. She willed it to just swallow her up.

As her body dissolved into a trembling mess, she felt him with her - here, on the ground. His arms bound tight around her, she could feel his strong form jolting with fear, devastation and loss just as well.

'I'm sorry.'

* * *

_Her chilly hands wandered their way down his taut chest as she revelled in the gasps he took as her fingertips danced over the spots she knew were ticklish. _

_There was a slight, almost infinitesimal trail of blonde hair running down his pelvis; a path her fingers delighted in drifting down._

_She kissed the underside of his chin, and strangled moan skated across her skin as she latched on to his throat._

'_Erika…' His voice was low - a warning meeting her eyes as his much larger hand captured her smaller one and pinned it with it's pair above her head._

_He crushed his lips to hers in a bruising kiss as slithered between her pearly thighs. She could feel his heart pounding against his ribs as he slid into her, slow and steady - wretchedly languid and deliciously full._

_Every time he skimmed her hilt, his nose of the straining skin of her neck would reverberate with the soft sounds of a strangled whimper. That brief second when they were never more together, could never be closer than they were; him filling her up and her tightening around him._

_His sweet breath fell over her dewy skin. She opened her eyes, and he stopped. _

_With each gasp she took, her breasts would skim the burning flesh of his heaving chest. Every now and again, he couldn't help himself. His hips would jolt back into hers, his pelvis slapping messily against her own steamy flesh before he'd shortly regain control once more, and try all over again._

_Her abdomen fluttered once and again, her sticky sweet insides quivering around him. Her hips grinding against his, desperate and shambolic._

_Taking matters into her own hands, it seemed, she began moving her body like a wave. Coiling herself around him and twisting, turning and crashing against him. _

_up - down. in - out. once - twice._

_His hand slapped onto the wall above them - giving him leverage, and sending her mind into a dizzy spiral. There was something strangely erotic about the sound of their two bodies moving together. _

_Slapping. Sighing. Wet. Moan. Kiss. Groan. Sliding. Whimper._

_Dean._

_Erika._

_Shit. Fuck. Yes. Yes. There. God. There. Right. Fuck. God. Harder. Faster. More. More._

_Now._

* * *

A strangled sound that was nothing short of pure and unadulterated sadness escaped her, and it made Dean's face drop to a point she had never before witnessed.

'No one stays.'

She was stoic, even in utter sorrow – and it scared Dean. To him, it was frightening enough to love; but to be hopelessly infatuated with a person - the only person he had let see his fear, his mourning, his pain- it was completely petrifying to be in love and to have his mind racing merely to find something, _anything_ to say to dissolve her pain.

'I've stayed.' His words made her heart catch in her throat.

'And now you're not.'


	4. chapitre :: three

_chapitre three :: lovely, intensely._

It seemed calm out there - out the tiny window. She was sitting, all stiff and stressed and closed off, coiled up on their bed just staring.

The yelling had subsided, now. He'd set it as a closed case and left, so unless someone came running down the hallway; it was going to be a lull issue. At least for a few hours.

"That went well."

Sarcasm and monotone sadness ripped through her voice and into him.

"It was never going to go well."

He sat by her - tried, at least. She got up and moved away from him, pelted herself into the corner on the opposite side of the room and kept glaring out the window.

"Yeah, imagine that… People that care about you not wanting you to be a martyr."

"I don't have a choice."

"You do! You do have a choice, you just don't care."

_You just don't care._ It stopped him in his tracks. The fighting - that wasn't unusual. All they seemed to do was bicker, but this was different. She had a poison in her tone, and she had cut herself from him with no delicacy. She thought; had convinced herself that this was it - That she was nothing to him and he didn't care. And he just couldn't find the words to convince her otherwise.

"That's what you think? That I don't care?"

"You don't. Plain and fucking simple, Dean. Not about me, anyway."

"I love you, Erika. I lo-"

"You love Sam. And you're dying. For Sam."

There wasn't anything more he could say. Not now, not really. So instead, he tried once more to get close to her. It was some strange, deep intrinsic desire he had for her that drove him - it drove them. They needed one another on the most simple and animalistic level. They were just drawn to one another, and for just a few moments - skin on skin, flesh to flesh when they were all wet kisses, warm breaths and sweet whispers - everything was okay, just for a heartbeat or two.

"I don't want to die." His hands viced firmly around her hips, his lips brushed her ear as he tried desperately to envelope her.

She gave in, wove her hands under his well worn cotton tee and pulled him down on top of her as they fell together onto the bed.

She rolled them after a while, after she had released him from her clutches - after she'd had her moment of revelling in him, all of him surrounding her so much so, she knew he was nothing but very real and just as much here.

She hooked her leg over his hips and rested her head gently over his heart. Just as tenderly, he hooked his arm around her leg; holding her close. For the first time in a long time - and maybe for the last time, tension melted into peace.

"I love you."

"I love you."

She slithered over him, managing eventually to get his shirt of him and onto the floor. Perched on his abdomen, she splayed her pale little hands over his tanned chest. They stayed like that for a while - comfortably uncomfortable, studying one another. Her fingers played mindlessly in the warmth dancing over his skin, until -

"Dean…"

He had a finger hooked in the hip of her underwear, and was trying to drag them far away. He flipped them, now - hands sliding up the inside of her thighs as he sucked and licked and kissed his way up her pearly skin.

Her nails raked through his hair, slipping over the sticky skin at his nape before shifting to cradle his face, pulling him up to her. His whole body surrounded her, engulfed and protected her - guarding her from the rest of the world and marking her as solely his.

His hands; weathered rough, looked tender and devoted upon her smooth torso. Hands that were moving leisurely up her sides, bringing with them the supple cotton that had previously veiled this part of her from him.

Her chest rose and fell with great drama, her breasts caressing his own chest every time she took air in. With Dean now the one so invigorated he was exhausted, Erika took advantage – letting her hand skim deftly down his abdomen, brushing over him.

A strangled groan that sounded like her name escaped into the air – again encouraging the standing picture of lust to morph into another.

He brought her to rest beside him, hooking her leg over his hip – allowing him to dip into her. A sound of shock and unadulterated torture bit down on Dean's shoulder, hardly escaping from her lips past his damp skin.

"Look at me." His voice was unwavering – his eyes bearing down on hers. Erika fought to bring her head forward, and wrestled even harder to open her eyes.

The line of sight between one another almost formed solidity, their gazes not one shifting from the other as Dean's hips thrust forwards into hers – ecstasy shattering the composure that was tried.

Erika's plush bottom lip hung with the stress her jaw was inflicting, a soft moan able to escape. Dean's face was much the same, he – gasping against her collar.

His firm hand was flat against the small dragonfly tattoo that rest between the dimples on her back, pulling her to him with an innate need to be closer. Another gasped moan escaped from her peachy lips, causing Dean's hips to involuntarily buck against hers.

"Uh..." An incoherent reverberation choked out from within Erika, her head falling forward, meeting his. Her eyes were heavy, lashes fluttering against the salty skin of his temple.

He pushed her face upward, planting a kiss under her chin, slowly making his way to the corner of her jaw, before returning to her mouth – opening his eyes to watch her as he thrust in and out again, finding a rhythm.

Her mouth fell open against his, her eyes hesitantly opening to meet his.

They moved painstakingly slowly, worshiping one another – relishing in a new found connection, a new found understanding.

Their passionate stare, nor connection - ever breaking, Dean rolled on top of her. His hands ran slowly up her arms, his long fingers intertwining with her petite ones.

"Come on…" Dean's rough voice fell on her ears softly, "Let go…" His eyes still bearing down on her, and hers up at him – "Never…" A shiver crept it's way down her back as she spoke, the tension visible in her taut legs.

Erika's eyes grew dark, her body moving more freely with the rhythm than before, as Dean's arms strained above her.

Moving one of his hands from above her head, he slid it back down her arm, wrapping it around her slender waist, bringing her up to him so as their bodies were pressed flush against one another.

In a final dance, their bodies moved as one, one of Erika's hands resting in the hollow of Dean's hip, the other splayed across his straining back.

Her head turned to rest in the crook of his neck, involuntary mewling sounds escaping from within each time he pound into her.

She brought her head back to face him, their eyes again locking – Erika let out a shriek of delighted release, her leg winding around his as she rested her forehead on Dean's.

All of Dean's muscles strained finally, beyond belief – as his lips fell into place onto hers, smothering his groans of gratification.

Adrenaline drained from his body, his arms gave way – collapsing onto the glowing woman that lay beneath him.

A gravely hum quivered over her willowy neck from where his lips rest, just below where his lashes brushed against her clammy skin as he opened his eyes again.

"You're beautiful." His tired voice falling onto her face, awakening her own eyes - A faint line formed between her eyes, surprised at the statement.

He drew her over to him as he moved off her, again enveloping his arm around her slight waist. They were both depleted, draped over one another – eyes fighting to stay open.

"Thank you." Her simple words hardly rising above a whisper. Tranquil in their delivery, with her closed eyes and calm in her position over Dean's heart – listening absorbedly, sending her to sleep.

His own ease came from the slight smile that rest on her lips, an allowance to drift away – but fight to remain in the morning, and forever after.


	5. chapitre :: four

_chapitre four :: death becomes them._

"Sam…" Tears were threatening to wash over her blood stained face. "I…" She shook her head and dropped his hand, letting it fall back to his side.

"He loves you. You love him. But you'd let him die? He'd die for you." He glared his accusing eyes at her. Angry. Upset. Confused.

"No Sam, he'd die for you. Dying, for you." Erika was defeated, not even trying to hide it any longer. "Years. _Years_, I've loved him - put up with his shit… I don't know who else I needed to be to make him want to stay with me. For me - but he chose you. He chose to die for you, so you could stay. And now… _this_…"

She held up her bloody hands in horror. His breathing was laboured, the pressure on his wound not having subsided, the artery gushing far too much for any mere mortal to prevent.

"What?"

"You know very well, what."

She blamed him. She couldn't help it. It seemed right, it felt like it was his fault.

"It was my deal, Erika! I didn't ask him - I wouldn't ask hi-"

"When has he, or would he have _ever_ listened? Huh?"

There was nothing. Nothing anyone could say, nothing anyone could do - it was just the guilt ridden brother, the blood drenched and devastated girlfriend and the dying, martyr brother all being swallowed up by the dark.

* * *

"He's gone."

Sam was panicked. Sheer, unadulterated panic was slapped right across his face.

"What?"

Bobby was confused, but trying desperately to take control of the very much uncontrollable situation he had walked into - _dead pseudo son, devastated brother of pseudo son, and shattered pseudo daughter._

Erika said nothing. She just sat there, the same as she had for the last 4 hours; silent and unmoving.

"Dean's body, it's gone."

"Somebody obviously needed a hobby. Or they had something better to do with it than let it sit in a shed, for hours."

"Erika…" Bobby had that tone, his fatherly tone that was both a warning and empathetic.

"See, Sam, this is why Dean never trusted you with anything. You just can't get your shit together."

He didn't get the chance to respond.

She was out the door.


	6. chapitre :: five

_chapitre five :: day dreaming._

_'You're beautiful.'_

_His tired voice swept warmly over her face, his sweet breath cool on her damp skin. A faint line appeared upon her forehead, surprised at his words._

_They were both exhausted, draped over one another with doe eyes that were fighting to stay open. _

_'Thank you.'_

_She lay peacefully with her eyes now having fallen shut, her ear planted softly on the flesh above Dean's heart listening absorbedly._

_His own ease came from the slight smile that pulled at the corners of her lips. _

_Hands tangled and flushed flesh, relaxed and content._

* * *

Erika lay wide awake, her memories and dreams mixing into a confused tonic that kept her from any real form of satisfying slumber.

Her eyes weren't quite… present; instead glassy and distant, and the linen beside her was damp. The small apartment around her didn't seem to suit her - it didn't look like a home, didn't seem as though it was lived in.

There were cube shelves dividing the messy bed from a studio kitchen and a couch that looked too new to be comfortable. There were dishes stacked perfectly in the island shelves, and books arranged too perfectly to have been read, in the little wooden windows. There was a rack of clothing lining the brick wall next to the bathroom - all blacks and greys, denim and leather. Boots and ballet flats all lined up beneath it.

Her iPhone sat on the mirrored table beside her bed. It lit up, and then dimmed. Lit, dimmed… lit, dimmed - it'd been doing this all day.

23 missed calls.

Bobby.

She rolled over to face it now, eyes still lifeless and sad. Over the next hour, she watched it light up and dim 4 more times. She touched the cool glass screen once, briefly before pulling her finger away quickly - as though her very flesh had been burned by his name. It took another hour, and the sun peeking up though the dark for her to muster her courage - or the essence to care.

Her finger slid over the screen lock, and she put the little box of electricity to her ear.

She didn't make a sound, she just waited.

'Where are you?'

'Just tell me you're alright.'

'Erika…'

'Come on, honey…'

His breathing was tired now, 45 minutes of soft questions left unanswered and the odd choked on gasp, with nothing to show for it.

'Erika, you need to call me when you're ready. When you can. We have to talk… There's something you need to know. Something I have to tell you.'

* * *

"_I'm sorry." His intense green gaze struck her suddenly, words steamy on her icy skin. _

"_Yeah?" She was suddenly unsure of herself, shy even – this which shocked Dean slightly, until he tilted his forehead to rest gently upon her own. _

_Her chilly hands slid up and over his jacket burrowing in his short locks, her fingers playing mindlessly, revelling in his comforting heat. _

_Her eyes were shut – his were wide open, washing over her delicate face; memorising it. _

"_Erika." Her name sounded loved, tripping over his lips. _

"_I love you."_

* * *

She was sure the woman squashed in next to her had poked her with her magazine to rouse her from her slumber. Admittedly, not a particularly restful slumber (it seemed, even on a plane, miles above anything earthly, she was still haunted by him, and memories of their togetherness…) - but it was something.

She hadn't bothered to call Bobby back, she just got on the plane. Her missed call register however, was now hitting well above 46 - a fact which she was figuring might not get her a warm reception when she did traipse back through the car yard.

It'd been a year or so since she'd seen Bobby last, and months since she spoken to him. Being lost just seemed easier.

And she hadn't heard from Sam for much longer - since she'd left. It seemed, she just couldn't help the selfish part of her brain that blamed him - blamed him, despised, and was jealous of him.

A recipe, she figured, which should make for an interesting visit - if nothing else.


	7. chapitre :: six

_chapitre six :: homecoming._

_'Dean?'_

_She crawled back into the warmth of the bed, lifting his sun kissed arm up and draping it over herself. It wasn't long before it tightened around her lithe waist and pulled her so close you would have thought they were trying to occupy the same space. _

_'Mmm…hmmm…' His voice was husky, tired. _

_'I love you.'_

_She whispered soft and low, her lips dragging on the shell of his ear. _

_His eyes slid open slowly as he captured her lips in his own and watched her closed ones as she slowly melted into him. _

_'Thank you.'_

* * *

'Miss?'

'Miss?'

The vaguely panicked, snowy haired cab driver had been trying to rouse Erika from her sleep for a good minute now.

'Yep… Yes!. Sorry.'

She was barely awake. She was hardly functioning - not that that was anything unusual of late, but it sure was inconvenient.

'This is as far as I go.'

He was pointing down the dirty old road. She couldn't tell if the concern in his eyes was because he'd heard tales of what lie beyond - or if he was just worried about where the strange sleepy girl was taking him, out in the middle of no place.

'That's fine. Here -' She shoved a bunch of bills in his direction, and reefed her bag out behind her.

He wandered off hurriedly and got the hell out of there as soon as he could humanly manage, leaving Erika in a dusty haze to start her trek up the road.

* * *

_Like a jigsaw they fit together;_

_Legs tangled, toes playing - hands knotted together and hips swirling against one another occasionally, between the kisses she was brushing under his chin and he on her forehead._

_"You love me, right?" _

_"Dean..." _

_"So, marry me."_

* * *

Even in utter consciousness, her mind befell her.

She couldn't just be, anymore - everything was a process. Stop remembering, lift this leg, don't get boot caught on that lifted board…

'The door's locked?'

She just stood there, dumfounded. She fiddled with it a couple of times, though, before she gave up.

'Bobby?'

Though she'd hardly raised her voice, she heard him thundering down the hall from her place on the dirty door mat before she saw him reef the flimsy door open.

'What's the matter with you? You can't pick up the phone?' His cap bobbed up on his head as his brows furrowed in anger and surprise.

'I'm here now. And I'll add - I walked a mile and a half down that god forsaken mess out there, because apparently; your reputation precedes you. Cabdrivers, children and cats. All afraid.'

He just stood for a moment longer. Lingering, glancing her up and down - making sure nothing was missing, everything vaguely as he remembered it should be. His knuckles were white with his grip on the door handle, something over his shoulder was burning his conscience. With his free hand, however, he made a grab for her dust laden bag.

'I'm fine.'

'Just hand it over.'

She did. She noted the small smile that graced him, however hard he was trying to hide it.


	8. chapitre :: seven

_chapitre seven :: shadows in the dark._

_'_So?'

Erika was perched somewhat haphazardly on one of Bobby's rickety old kitchen chairs. In the living room. Surrounded by stale drinks and smelly old books.

'Hows things?'

Maybe it was because she was too exhausted to bother concealing it - or maybe it was just because she was too concerned to; but she couldn't help glancing around the unusually messy and disorganised chaos that had become Bobby's house. To be fair, it had always been a bit messy - but it had always been organised mess. You wanted to know where just about anything was? Bobby knew where in his mess to shovel and dig it out. That didn't seem humanly possible, in this load of crap.

'Not much.'

He shrugged at her, and took another swig of his scotch.

'Well, this isn't awkward or anything.'

'What were you expecting? I've been callin' you for months - Nothin'.'

'I haven't been in the mood to chat.'

'Did it ever occur to you that it might have been important?'

'If it had been, you would have found a way to tell me.'

'This isn't somethin' that you tell someone over the phone, Erika.'

'What?'

She looked at him with icy eyes. It wasn't until this moment, had Bobby been given the real chance to garner just how much she had closed herself off, since she'd lost him. Since they'd all lost him.

'You stayin' long enough to eat somethin'?'

'Bobby…'

* * *

The meal was hardly appetising. Or obviously revealing of it's contents.

'We can't just get pizza, or something?'

'I cooked. I don't cook, but I cooked for you. And you'll damn well eat it.'

The pair of them sat in silence for a time, fiddling with the food - pushing it around and nibbling on the odd piece here and there. The odd glance was shared every now and again, but neither of them revealed too much of themselves - as per usual. It would have been obvious to anyone with half a wit about them, that the two of them wanted desperately to throw down and spill their guts to one another; what they'd been doing the last year or so, who they'd seen, what they knew - how they really were… But they were both too stubborn.

'I'm not eating this until you tell me what you intended.'

So Erika resorted to blackmail, instead. Just like old times.

'Erika…'

'Bobby!'

* * *

She'd stormed off to one of the upstairs rooms after her insistence upon him had proved fruitless.

He'd cleared the table and wandered out to one on the garages for almost an hour before he returned to the cramped hall outside the tiny room Erika was in.

'Come out here.' He sounded tired.

It took her a minute to respond; she'd been standing by the dirty window, peering out upon the glistening lake of sheet metal and twisted wrecks. She could have sworn she'd heard someone out there on her way in, and the shadows being cast seemed human enough. But really - here, they could have been just about anything, and Erika knew better than to nose around in Bobby's business. Buisiness she didn't have a personal investment in, anyhow.

She pulled the door open slowly, she too was tired.

'You need to come with me.'

He just started on down the dim hall, he didn't wait to see if she'd follow - he knew better.


	9. chapitre :: eight

_chapitre eight :: impossible possibilities._

'You could've told me I'd need a coat.'

'Suck it up.'

She was quick stepping behind him, her shorter legs struggling to keep up with his longer ones in the cold dark.

'Don't overreact… Just, trust me. You'll probably overreact… It's not what it looks like… I-'

'Bobby!' There was fear in her eyes - she knew it took something rather massive to put Bobby off his game like this, and she wasn't sure she was equipped to deal with it at the moment. 'What is going on!'

'A few weeks ago, something happened. We don't know how, yet. We're not… we're still working it out.'

'We?'

'Yeah. We.'

'Sam? Bobby, I don't wanna-' She shook her head, shoving her fisted hands into her pockets. She was all bent up, shielding herself from it all - from him, from the possibility of Sam. Between kicking the dirt that now had her full admiration as she avoided Bobby's gaze and the sheer want to not have to have this discussion; to not have to explain how she hated Sam, how she couldn't stand the thought of him - she didn't notice the shadows moving closer.

'Not Sam.'

It froze her in her tracks, that voice. It was a familiar falsetto, and it rocked her to the core - stuck, unmoving.

'Er…Erika.' Her name felt unfamiliar on his lips.

She spun away, her back to the two men standing before her. Her hands, now reefed from her denim clad thighs, were shaking. Her eyes were closed, her already pale skin having turned an almost sickly grey. Thoughts running through her head at a million miles an hour - all of her rationality said that she knew this was technically possible, or rather, she knew that in her life not much was impossible. But this; him, she didn't know what it was, how it could be or what it meant - all she knew was she didn't was to, and didn't think she could face it if he wasn't here to stay.

He looked almost as afraid as she, nervous and unmoving. His green eyes were glued on her; concerned, obviously - but also taking her in. It was like he was trying to take in every inch of her, seeing if he'd remembered correctly - seeing if anything had changed.

'How?'

She had only half turned back, still not daring to look at him - to look at Dean.

'Told you - we don't know.' Bobby was keeping his distance, having backed off somewhat.

Erika was glaring at him, at Dean. Her décolletage was flushed all blotchy and pink, and she was on the borderline of consciousness and hyperventilation. He didn't quite know what to do with himself, he look uncomfortable, but something in his eyes was relieved - relieved she was acknowledging him, and that she'd not run a million mile an hour in the other direction.

After another few minutes of unnerving staring, Dean lifted his shirt. Her eyes deflected almost immediately - it was all too close, too revealing and too intimate. Too soon. That is, until she saw it; He's turned his back to her now, and a scar was now blatantly staring her in the face.

A hand print was risen on his still golden flesh (just as she remembered it), and scars peppered his skin, mark and lines a painful reminder of what - she wondered.


	10. chapitre :: nine

_chapitre nine :: odd couple._

Erika had quickly retreated to her room after Dean and Bobby's big reveal, last night. She hadn't said anything more, and nor had they. Her racing mind and busy thoughts hadn't allowed her tired eyes a even a blink of slumber; which had left her in severe need of caffeine.

She had managed to escavate a rumpled pair of black jeans and a fluffy grey sweater from her bag, though hadn't had as much luck finding socks. Or shoes. Which was probably a good thing, really, considering how it allowed her to creep down Bobby's creaky old stairs.

A newspaper could only just be seen peeking out from beneath all of Bobby's crap; it was four days old, but it was something. So there she sat, coiled up in a kitchen chair with a mug of coffee just about as big as her head, and only a trace of brown liquid left in the bottom of the jug.

She was so tired and so desperately out of it that of late (the last few months) she really hadn't been herself. Her senses were all out, with nothing was as sensitive as it should have been. She wasn't anywhere near as aware as she should have been either, and just about everything else was just a bit numb. That which would explain why she didn't notice him creep in behind her.

He stood there for a minute before announcing himself, just looking. Gazing.

She'd cut her hair, a few inches maybe.

Her tattoo was gone, the small of her back bare and pale.

She was paler than usual, alabaster even.

She'd lost weight.

Her air, her way - it was vastly different. He wasn't sure he recognised her. She seemed harder, but more fragile.

'Ah-hem.'

She jumped.

'Sorry.'

Her mouth fell open slightly, before she drew her pink lips back into the vice of her teeth, stopping herself. Instead, she just watched him wander over to the coffee machine - his back to her while he waited for the jug to fill up a bit more. She couldn't help but admire how the weathered cotton fell from his broad shoulders. Her heart fluttered, no matter how desperately she tried to quash it.

He was just as tall and commanding as she remembered.

There was something different about the way he carried himself, though.

There were scars on his arms she didn't remember.

His hair looked… different. Shorter, maybe.

'I don't know…'

He spun rapidly to face her, at the sound of her smokey voice.

'I don't know what I'm supposed to say to you.'

She only glanced at him intermittently, whilst his gaze didn't leave her.

'Say that you missed me.'

'I missed you.' She nodded with her words, certain.

'I missed you.' He sunk in his chair, trying to get down to her level - trying to get her to look at him again. He was desperate for a connection with her, and it seemed her distance was all that was keeping him from jumping over the table and enveloping her.

'What?-' She pointed to his shoulder. 'Where?' She pushed her coffee aside, satisfying his want and meeting his eyes.

'I don't kno-'

'Don't lie to me.'

'Hell. It was hell.'

She only just glimpsed the tear slipping down his cheek before he quickly brushed it away.

'Hell?'

'Yeah.'

She chocked on the word, forcing any tears of her own away.

'Sam?'

'We think we've narrowed it down. Heading out later today.'

Erika just nodded, taking another mouthful of her coffee. She tried to scald away the lump in her throat.

'Come. Please. Come…' He moved to touch her, but she pulled away

Her messy mind was running circles around her sensibility, and no one thought seemed to be able to pull away from any other. She was adrenalized and exhausted all at once.

'O…kay…'

He almost smiled, but he didn't wan't to startle her.


	11. chapitre :: ten

_chapitre ten :: the ones left behind._

The impala was eerily quiet. No speaking, no music - scarcely much breathing, even.

'Where have you been?'

Trust Bobby to shatter the silence.

'Bobby-'

Erika was perched stiffly on the buttery backseat, the two men sitting upfront. She was crammed in with various bags, maps and other bits. She fiddled with one of the old books whilst attempting in vain to avoid Bobby's interrogation.

'I'm serious, Erika.'

She sighed, exasperated. 'London.' She figured she might as well get it out of the way, because in the end she knew - there really wasn't any escaping it.

'I put out feelers for you in London -'

'Not very good ones, obviously.'

He now gave a gruff sigh of chagrin.

'Did you run into any trouble?'

'Nothing you need worry about.'

Dean's interest peaked with that last statement, though he still not dare speak out of turn. He knew she'd only just managed to convince herself to get in the car, so he wasn't about to go shoving her in the wrong direction.

'You heard from him, at all?' He did though, steal a glance at her in the rear view mirror, with his question.

'Who?' She fell into it, not hesitating this time - not over thinking anything and everything before she allowed herself to speak.

'Sam.' Her eyes dropped away from the mirror and his own with that.

'No.' And she shut herself down once more.

* * *

She'd tried to stay in the car and had attempted to convince herself that she could make a run for it. Alas, her heart didn't allow it; so up the grimy stairs her boots did trudge, on after the old man and the curious one. The pair of them were thundering off after some room number.

116. That's what his scribbles on the ratty piece of paper that had been floating on the dash for the last 5 hours said. As she neared 116, her ears caught hold of the situation before her eyes did. Vociferation, and various expletives. The door was agar, and she could see Bobby perched on the sidetable. Dean was shouting. Sam was too. And then there was the barely dressed girl scurrying about and heading straight for her.

'Excuse me.' She brushed past Erika, leaving the door well open and revealing her to the three loud men in the process.

Sam's eyes bore into her from across the room.

'You told her first!' His arm was out held, and his tone accusing.

'Hey!' Dean threw down a warning before he knew what he was doing, glancing quickly over to check he'd not offended the slight woman by the door. His woman.

'Well?' But Sam didn't let up.

'She was there. We found her first. Well…' Dean shook his head, trying to wrap his tongue around the thoughts his brain were trying to convey.

'Don't start, Sam.' Erika's sure words stopped them both in their tracks.

'Excuse me?' He was offended.

'You heard me.' Still steady and sure, she wondered how long she might keep this up before her heart got the better of her.

'You aren't in any position to tell me-'

'Shut up, Sam.' Bobby kept his sly grin to himself, quietly taking in the situation from his perch.

Sam scoffed at her. 'Fuck you.' He towered above her, but held nothing over her.

'Sam!' Dean let out a yelp before being placated by Bobby.

'Fuck you too, Sam.' But with that, she rose each man's eyebrows.

The two eyed one another off for another minute or so, before Erika flopped into a chair. 'We can bitch at each other all you like, Sam, but at the end of the day-' She pointed at Dean- 'He's here. And we need to find out how. And why. And who. Because it's not just luck, no matter how lucky it feels.'

He plunked in his own seat now and took a moment to stare at his shoes before revealing that puppy-dog look of knowing he performed all too well, had washed over his face.

'We make a better team when we work together. All this other crap? We'll figure it out as we go.' She slipped forward and held out a hand, which Sam seemed to take gladly enough.

'You're right. Sorry.' He'd still not let go of her little hand, his eyes giving her a flash of what she guessed - if she herself was anything to go by - was old Sam, the one he'd been suppressing and hiding all these months. The grieving Sam. She she returned the favour, and he let go.


	12. chapitre :: eleven

_chapitre eleven :: dark truths._

She padded back down the familiar stairs, skipping over the creaky few so as to try and buy her some quiet from the now sleeping interrogators. From the moment the four of them had bundled back into the car, the chatter hadn't stopped. Plans, pasts, futures and everything in-between - there had been no limit, and no peace. Not until Bobby had fallen asleep in just about the most uncomfortable looking chair Erika had ever seen, and Sam sprawled out on the questionable smelling chaise. Dean had wandered away, and she had done the same.

She'd seen the lights on out in the garage from her window, and now from the back door she could see his pacing shadow. As she grew closer, she noted his quiet mumbles. She couldn't help the slight smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth.

It was her turn now, to stare. She took her moment with her head peaking around the dirty corrugated iron, watching him stare intently into his glass of scotch. His back tight with stress, and his shoulders slumped and tired - he was carrying a heavy weight, and it pressed heavily of her own heart.

'Hey.' She slowly stepped into the room, eyes not fearing to catch his own this time.

'Hey.' He sighed with relief, it sounded.

'Can't sleep?' She took a seat on one of the few upturned drums.

He shook his head, setting his glass down on the work bench beside them. He ran his hand through his hair, turning away briefly before grabbing a drum himself and positing himself across from her.

She just looked at him, she could feel his sweet breath on her face. She could feel the heat radiating off his leg. She could just feel him, very real and very here - and for a moment she was taken aback. Then he took her hand.

He cradled it in his own, turning it over and back again. Rubbing the soft flesh with his calloused thumb. Measuring it against his own, checking to make sure it was the same. Then he brought up to his face and pressed a light kiss to her palm, before resting his tired face in her hand and closing his heavy eyes.

They sat like that for a moment. And then he couldn't take it anymore - His eyes flit open and his arms outstretched, he grabbed her and pulled her into him. He enveloped her, arms coiled tightly around her and buried his face in her hair.

Her hands were careful. She didn't know how hurt he was, and where - so she tenderly lay one hand on his lower back and slid the other between them, and covered his heart. His beating heart.

'You weren't telling the truth, before. Were you?' Her lips dragged on the shell of his ear.

He froze, but he didn't release her. He was still, and tense. And then he let go.

She could feel his warm tears on her neck, his harsh breath, his thundering heartbeat.

'Dean…'

He reluctantly released her, but did not loose grip on her hand.

He found his seat once more, and composed himself.

He delicately sandwiched her hand between his two larger ones, his fingers coiling around it with no intention to let go.

'I remember. I remember everything.'

'Shit… Dean…'

She brought her spare hand up to his face, and he took solace.

Warm tears started down his face, and her own. His voice was sad, and brimming with shame.

'It was four months up here, but down there… I don't know. Time's different. It was more like forty years.'

Erika couldn't hold in a gasp, her hand now clasping his just as fiercely as he was hers.

'They uh… They sliced and carved and tore at me in ways that you… until there was nothing left. And then suddenly, I would be whole again. Like magic. Just so they could start it all over. And Alastair - at the end of everyday, every one, he would come over. And he would make me an offer; to take me off the rack, if I put souls on. If I started the torturing. And everyday, I told him to stick it where the sun shines. For 30 years, I told him… But then I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't. And I got off that rack - God help me - I got right off, and I started ripping them apart. I lost count how many souls… The… The things that I did to them-'

She let his forehead rest on hers, as she tried to find the impossible words that would sooth his shattered soul.

'How I feel - This, inside me… I wish I couldn't feel anything. I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing.'

The words weren't there, but she was. She was here, and all she had to offer was herself, her heart and love.

Her lips brushed his trembling ones hesitantly at first, but it only took a moment before every fibre of her being remembered - remembered that this was home, that this was safe and he was right.

He finally released her hand and let her coil her arms around his neck before he pulled her into his lap. They hugged and kissed, comforted and remembered all that they could fit in before the sun interrupted them


End file.
